


Kept

by stellare



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2015-08-19
Packaged: 2018-04-15 15:06:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4611288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stellare/pseuds/stellare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The warlock who would live forever, the lady of the lake, and a series of promises.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kept

**Author's Note:**

> This was sitting in my drafts and I realized I never uploaded it anywhere, so here we go!

The last thing she remembers is his face hovering so close to hers, his tears softly dropping onto her cheeks, wondering if he could save her. You’ve already saved me, she insists, because it’s true. His charm, his love for life, the way he’s used his magic just to make her smile - makes her warm, accepted, loved. He’s brought her to a lake, and she is touched, so deeply touched, even as she lies dying in his embrace.

 

I’ll come back - this is his promise, and the words make her smile.

 

She will repay him one day with everything she has. This is her promise, and as she closes her eyes, the darkness welcomes her home.

 

When she opens them again, the sun is just breaking over the horizon, his gentle rays touching down on every visible corner of the earth. The warmth trickles down from the face of the water. She sees the sky above, the clouds, the sky, blurred and distorted from her vantage point beneath the water. She tries to surface but never can, tries to reach up but has no corporeal form with which to do so. Day in and day out, she drifts, spying different parts of shore before she realizes that she is not merely trapped in the waters of the lake, but she is the water herself.

 

Magic thrums throughout her entire being, magic more powerful than she had ever been born or cursed with, and she knows that something is happening, something that requires the water, something - _someone_ -

 

\- and she sees Merlin emerge from the forest, a blade in his hand. He rears an arm back and pitches the sword into the lake, and it is pure instinct that tells her to reach up, up - and as she breaks the surface of the water, she’s awed as her fingers take form once again as she grabs the hilt, takes in a moment to wonder at the energy pulsing from the blade, and draws it back toward her. There is a reason why this blade must be hidden, and she will do everything in her power to keep it safe until the day comes when he needs it again. This is her promise.

 

The bravest and most noble knight - his friend - is the first he sends to her. He pushes the boat into the waters with tears rolling down his cheeks, the gold in his eyes starting up flames to send the gallant knight’s soul to rest, and she knows that this is how he must have sent her off. When the fire dies and the embers cool, she welcomes the ashes.

 

Many soon follow. The queen’s brother. Friends. Knights. All sent to her, all welcomed into her arms. She will take care of them, ensure their safe passage into the other world. This is her promise.

 

When he appears at her shores again, desperately holding onto the king’s lifeless form, she feels his anguish twist the very core of her being. She is heavy, burdened with sorrow as she pulls the king’s boat into the lake, farther and farther from his view. When he does not set flames to the body, she lightens with understanding, and reaches up to welcome the Once and Future King into her arms. Merlin still stands at the edge of the lake, a mere speck in the distance. She sends a tiny, nearly imperceptible wave to lap at his feet at the otherwise placid shore, acknowledging - your king is safe. One day, Arthur Pendragon will return to you. This is her promise.

 

Several years pass before she sees Merlin again. Decades, centuries - she has stopped counting. When he reappears, his hair is long and white, his face wrinkled, eyes telling of a thousand tales, and it’s as if he never left. He rows a boat into the middle of the lake, slow and deliberate.

 

When he stops, he drops the oar at his feet and peers into the waters. Before her very eyes, his hair darkens into the color of midnight and shortens to curl around his ears, the wrinkles smooth from his brow, the sunspots fade into pale, pale skin, and that dark jacket is suddenly too large for his shoulders. Only his eyes are the same, and there’s a fond look in those eyes, a soft curl to those lips as he pillows his chin on one arm, reaches over the edge and touches his fingertips to the water’s surface.

 

This time, there is no sword to retrieve, no friend to bid farewell to, no ceremony, no quest - just the warlock who would live forever and the lady of the lake, with the words - his promise, made long ago that he would return for her, just for her.

  
“Hello,” he whispers, and she breaks the surface of the water to twine her fingertips with his. “I came back.” 


End file.
